


Dear Andrés

by Schattenecho



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Letters, M/M, Martin needs a hug, Pain, Writing to overcome trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24273034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenecho/pseuds/Schattenecho
Summary: Martín doesn't believe in therapy and all this psycho-stuff-bullshit. But one year after the first heist, the pain seems so become unbearable, and so he trys to make it just a little bit better. He writes a letter to a dead man. A letter to Andrés.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Dear Andrés

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very sorry for all Errors. English is not my first language

_Palermo, April 10. 2018_

Dear Andrés, I…

Andrés, I…

I miss…

I don’t know, what to write. In the last months, since this one horrible moment, I wished nothing more than just talk to you one more time. But now, I can’t think of a single word to say. Altough I am not really talking to you.

This letter is never going to be send. I will probably burn it, before anybody can find it. No one should read this. It’s only for your eyes.

Because you are the only one in den world who can understand this.

I always thought, I always hoped, that you will keep your promise. That you will come back to me one time. I waited for you until…

Until last year.

I wanted so get back to you, no matter the cost. I wanted it so much. The packed suitcase still lays in my cabinet, I can’t face to unpack it yet. Probably never. But you told me I should not come back. And I had no choice than to obey your command. I never had this choice. But you know this.

In the moment when you left me you knew, that I wouldn’t even try to do something against it.

Why have you done this?

You don’t love me, this point was more than clear. But this wouldn’t have been necessary to allow me to love you. To save you.

Why wasn’t I allowed to? Why didn’t you let me give my life instead of yours? Why did you take the bullet, that was meant to hit my chest? Why didn’t you grant me this moment? Why, Andrés?

I would have died, with a happy smile on my face. You knew that, when you left me. Then you told me, you would leave me for love. For brotherhood.

In this moment you sacrificed yourself for me by breaking my heart. You casted me out to save me. For that I hate you. You didn’t even give me the chance to. And you know, what is the worst part?

You failed.

Did you really think, that I would manage to get over you? Did you think, that I would be strong enough to break the chains that tie me to you? My friend, you were wrong. You made a horrible mistake. You didn’t save me.

I died in den Royal Mint, side by side with you. Your last breath, that was my dying soul, fleeing your body, to see your face for one last time.

When I look in the mirror these days than it’s a dead man looking back at me. He is a stranger to me. He says his name is Martín Berrote. Martín Berrotte lies in a grave next to you, somewhere in Spain.

But I am still here.

Every day I point the gun at my head, directly at the temple. I close my eyes and imagine to end it all, just pull the trigger. Game over, with one little move of a finger. But even this you ruined for me. You don’t want to see me again, not even in death.

Every day I open my eyes again and put the gun down.

You don’t let me die and I don’t let me live. Because I just can’t.

I can’t live without you. I can’t live without my life. I can’t live without my soul.

I just vegetate, as I would wait for something, from which I already know it will never happen.

You won’t keep your promise. We will never see each other again.

And do you know, what I am going to do?

I will proceed as I did in the past. I will do everything, to give your sacrifice a meaning. There is only thing, you can’t expect from me: I can’t get over you. I can’t forget you.

I loved you for ten years - who am I lying to? - I still love you I can’t stop it, even if I wanted to. But I don’t want. I need this pain. It’s all what is left for me.

What am I doing?

What am I writing?

It’s just a stupid letter, a bloody piece of paper. I am not talking to you, you are never going to read this.

I just need something that makes the pain bearable. It’s like fire in me. I need it, but it’s killing me, burning me from the inside, burns every little bit of humanity, that the grief has left. You told me to go on, to heal my wounds. I am not a human anymore, I am an animal covered with purulent wounds, that inflict pain with every move.

Andrés.

I…

I don’t want this anymore.

All this grief, all this rage, this darkness inside me, I just can’t bear them anymore. Please, allow me to leave it all. Andrés, you promised it. We will see each other again.

I burrow my head in my arms and let the tears drip into my sleeve. My body is trembling, my lips are shaking. I remember our kiss. And with one thought there is even more pain burning me.

I saw you on TV, talking to the journalists. I couldn’t stand to watch it until the end. I wanted to, but I just couldn’t bear it. I’m so sorry, you probably think now, that everything I said before were just meaningless phrases.

But I couldn’t stand, that the last picture I should have from you, was a picture created for a random camera

Andrés, I need you. Please, let me go to you. You don’ have to love me, I know for ten years, that you don’t. I just want the thing back, we had before. I want to get back to your side, back to the time, before this whole shit happened.

Do you remember this time?

We were young, burning on both ends, the world belonged to us. Let us be like that again. I come to you and we could be happy again. We move to Buenos Aires in a flat in the district of Palermo. And than I could love you, until the end of time itself. How knows, maybe, one day, you even might love me back

Andrés, I love you.

_Martín_


End file.
